


When I Say You Can

by thefirstreason



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bladder Control, Bottom Sherlock, Desperation, Desperation Play, M/M, Omorashi, Top John, Watersports, john is gentle but in control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirstreason/pseuds/thefirstreason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes early in the morning with a full bladder and urgent need to use the loo. John makes it quite clear that he doesn't want Sherlock getting out of bed in his condition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Say You Can

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE KNOW THE TAGS HERE. This story contains urine in a sexual situation! If you're not about that, turn around now! Otherwise... please enjoy :>

Sherlock’s eyes met pitch black; still dark outside, no earlier than 3am. After a moment, he realized that the reason he had woken was the increasing pressure in his abdomen. He released a gust of a sigh, turning to his side and flopping his arm onto the slumbering individual next to him whose breath hitched in waking.

“Sh-” The damp voice stopped to clear a muggy throat, “Sherlock, what…?”

“Mm- the loo,” Sherlock removed his arm and made a half-hearted attempt to get himself upright. Half hearted, because John’s limp hold on him shouldn’t have been able to stop him from rising. Rolling his head over to make John out in the darkness, he grasped the arm across his chest with his hand and made a groan in question, but then his eyes fell shut.

No response was given, and just as soon as Sherlock could distinguish John’s even breaths, his own evened out.

\---

Awake, and very suddenly this time. The pressure in his abdomen is greater and more immediate. He opened his eyes to find that it’s still dark outside, the only measurement he has of time passing is how much his need for the toilet had increased. He guessed about an hour.

John’s arm is still crossed over his chest. Sherlock stroked it once before gingerly picking it up and placing it next to John’s face, trying not to wake him this time. His efforts are obviously wasted, when the same hand he just removed came back up to grab a shoulder when Sherlock earnestly tries to rise from the cocoon of sheets. 

“John,” He reached up to try and remove the restricting force, ”John I just need the toilet,” grogginess still sheets his voice.

The grip only became tighter, and he’s pulled half on top of the other body. Their chests collided with a gust of breath, then arms came up and enveloped Sherlock, locking him in place. He squirms, patience shorter with the push in his belly shifting with every movement. He pressed a hand flat to John’s chest to push- useless, John isn’t letting up.

“Honestly, I need to use the loo. What are you-“

“No,” finally came the reply. Sherlock’s struggle stilled for a moment, he drew his eyebrows together and looked up questionably at the other, just barely making out facial features as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

“No?”

“That’s what I said,” Though John had just woken up himself, his voice was much more clear and definitive than Sherlock’s. The arms around him had the strength of mid-day, not mid-night. If Sherlock were going to break out of this, he would need to put up more of a struggle.

Sherlock slung a leg over John’s hips, straddled him and tried to pull his torso from John’s by using his knee on the bed for leverage, 

“What do you mean,” the strain in his core muscles reflecting in his voice, “no?” 

He let out an exasperated sigh and flopped back down, recovering from the way his bladder protested from the force he was exerting. Only with his body fully lying across John’s did he notice the slight hardness under his own pelvis. Looking back at John and seeing better in the dark now than before, he found that John was staring right back at hi, a spark of challenge in his eyes.

“John, I’m serious. If I don’t get where I need to be in the next few minutes there will be a clean-up,” It was meant as a threat, but he couldn’t help the way his body pushed back at the hardening bump underneath him, the doctors breath broke and his lips parted.

“A clean-up, yeah? Just to clarify, you’re the one who will be making the trip to the cleaners. I really am tired of always washing our bed sheets, Sherlock,” Sherlock cursed at the way he felt his name vibrate out of John’s chest right into his own.

“There wont need to be any clean-up if you unwrap yourself from me,”

“That’s not happening,”

“And why in the hell not, then?” Slight agitation edged in his tone. 

“Oh, testy. You must really need to go.” Sherlock didn’t need to be looking at John’s face to know he wore a smirk on those lips.

“Do save your teasing for a time when my bladder isn’t speaking louder than my brain and let me up,” Once again Sherlock struggled and flopped faster than he had before- liquid now feeling stronger than the force of gravity and he really, really needed to get off this bed.

John’s arms flexed tighter around his ribcage, bringing one down to Sherlock’s lower back and applying some pressure. That earned him a gasp and some more useless struggles. John had tried to keep his arousal in check but there’s no doubt now that Sherlock has noticed his interest. In retaliation, Sherlock ground down, momentarily stopping John’s thought process, but it was a double-edged sword as he groaned from the added pressure on his bladder. They both went lax. Sherlock listened to the silence that fell as his body ebbed and flowed slightly from the body breathing under him. He decided to give it another go.

“It’s uncomfortable for you to breathe. It’s uncomfortable for me to be lying here. The logical thing to do is to let me up and go back to sleep. You’ve got surgery in the morning…” His tone softened and trailed off, distracted by the kisses and licks being traced into his neck. He pushed himself up on his elbows and tilted his head out of the way. Something that, he realizes with mild irritation, seems to have become an automatic reaction when John is on his neck, or any part of his body, really. “John… what are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing,” John mumbles under Sherlock’s jaw.

“Yes ok, but what…” Brain slow, attention is elsewhere. “What are you thinking, then?” John bites down and Sherlock feels himself go blank for a brief second.

“I’m thinking,” John speaks, hot breath ghosting over sensitive skin. “That all I’ve done is seen you pin things on the wall and dash around London for the past two weeks, and I like variation in my life,” A hand slides down Sherlock’s side until it finds bare skin just above Sherlock’s waistband and then grips, earning an immediate shift out of Sherlock’s hips.

“What you’re thinking is… nice, but not ideal. John, it’s four in the morning, you have to wake up soon, I have to use the loo. These circumstances aren’t-” He’s cut off abruptly and groans. John rolled his thumb over the inside of Sherlock’s ileac crest, causing enough outside pressure for his pelvic muscles to spasm in defense. He was going to lose it. He needed to get up. Before he realized, he was being tugged over, so that he was now hovering over John’s face, a dark outline of John’s silhouette is all he can make out.

“I don’t want you to go to use the loo,” Clearly stated and direct, John was not kidding. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and shifted his pelvis again to maybe find some momentary relief, he felt John hard against him. The only part of his brain left that wasn’t screaming at him to run to the toilet contemplated for a moment before speaking.

“Last time we indulged in my urination play you seemed quite put off. I assumed you did not want to partake any longer…” They had started to tread into Sherlock’s kink a little over a month prior. John had told Sherlock that he wanted to explore that realm with him but he wasn’t quite comfortable getting peed on himself. Sherlock agreed and things went smoothly, loving the feeling of John watching him as he loses control of his bladder and helping him clean up after. A few weeks into their play Sherlock had overstretched his limits and accidentally let go right as he was on top of John, getting him wet as well. They had awkwardly ceased their play and soon went back to the usual sex, no elements of denial or control, as if they never did in the first place. This was the first time the subject had come up since.

“I wasn’t put off I was just… startled. I should’ve been preparing myself for something like that all along. I really just needed time to think,”

Sherlock was quiet with thought. John’s pulse was steady, he seemed to be sincere and not just sparing feelings, “So, what were your conclusions?”

“That the thing I was most unnerved about was how much it didn’t unnerve me. I thought I wasn’t a person who would enjoy something like that. But when you just did it I was… the opposite of uncomfortable. Took me a while to sort through my head.” His other hand found Sherlock’s other exposed hip and he pressed both his thumbs into the softness past Sherlock’s hipbones. Sherlock outright whined from the bottom of his throat.

“So…” Sherlock’s voice is wavered, controlled, “what you’re saying is…” The pressure is building. He felt his urinary muscles weaken with every shift of pressure under John’s firm thumbs, “…is that…” he struggled.

“I changed my mind.” John’s voice is dark and alluring, pulling Sherlock’s hips solidly down into his own, grinding upward and Sherlock gasps and plants his forehead into the pillow next to John’s head. The detective lets out a long broken groan. “I want you to.”

“You want me to...?” Sherlock repeats in a haze. He wants him to what? What specifically? John can’t expect him to be of proper thought at this point in this game.

“I want you to release on me, love. Let it all go, right here.”

Sherlock’s groan almost sounded like a sob it was so deep and broken. His self-control has dropped below manageable levels. John’s approval has sent Sherlock into a swift spiral downwards. The restraint he was clinging to was currently dissolving at the thought of what was before him, the urgency in his bladder amplified and his whole penis felt electrified with the need for release. Not to mention he had gone from being half stiff to a full, hard erection jutting right into John’s body alongside a similar member. 

This is about to be all over all to quickly. The amount of times Sherlock had fantasized about this scenario and here it was, popping out of nowhere, giving Sherlock no time to savor or build up because he was moments from losing it. 

“God…” Came a weak groan, spoken into John’s shoulder. John’s chest bounced in a quiet chuckle, just to have it end abruptly in a hard exhale as Sherlock dared to gently roll his hips downward. The solider growled himself. 

“How close are you?” He rolls up into Sherlock, one hand grabbing Sherlock’s arse and pulling him down and in while the other firmly pressed on Sherlock’s low back, keeping him between the sandwiching pressure. He can feel how hard they both are and how Sherlock’s muscles are flexed in strain. Sherlock curses again.

“M-minute. Maybe.” His voice was breathy, urgent, aroused. John feels himself get harder, not believing how ready he already was. He had been thinking about this for a week, building up without release and it was so very worth it.

“Sherlock, you can’t go until I say- remember?” It’s difficult too produce a tone of authority while Sherlock squirmed and wined weakly on top of him. How long had Sherlock’s hips been subtly shifting like that? He was so close, almost there. Just a little longer.

“Yes.” Sherlock whispered urgently, “Yes I remember.”

“Good.” John slinked his right hand from Sherlock’s buttock around his waist and rested it between them, right over Sherlock’s bulging bladder. He can hear Sherlock’s breathing become shallow and panicked, “Calm down.” He doesn’t move until he hears Sherlock force a deeper breath and relax, then he softly rubs circles around the bare skin of Sherlock’s protruding belly. No pressure. Just circles.

“J-ohn,” Sherlock is practically holding his breath now, his voice weak and distressed. He knows he can’t ask for anything but there’s a word if he wants to stop. He knows he has to wait and listen. 

“You’re ok Sherlock. You can handle it.” He kisses Sherlock’s head through his curls as reassurance, continuing his circles. He can feel muscles under his fingertips spasm and tremble. He stops, and presses inward softly. Experimentally increasing the pressure, pushing up into the bulging area. Sherlock gasps hard, chest shaking in choppy breaths, he tries to pull his body away from the added pressure but John’s other hand is still on his low back, keeping him in place. He whimpers, fingers digging into the bedding. John is keeping his hand at a steady, maddening pressure. 

“John-!” He nips out with more immediacy. He’s going to burst, he’s right there. He has mere seconds if John keeps this up. They’re both fully clothed, bedding everywhere. He needs to piss so much- this is going to be a lot. It’s going to be messy. Fuck fuck he can’t think about it, he can’t think about anything other than how much he needs to urinate. 

“Shh,” John reprimands, “You’re doing great,” John let’s off the pressure for a moment to let Sherlock collect himself. He strokes the soft skin slowly, the skin jumps under his fingertips. Sherlock is quietly moaning and whining into John’s shoulder, he’s started shifting his pelvis more noticeably, “Sherlock,” John almost coo’s, “Stop wiggling. That’s right, keep as still as I know you can.” John can practically hear Sherlock’s protests from inside his head, but he does as he’s told and keeps quiet. John kisses the side of his head again and then pushes his hand back up into Sherlock, fully cupping the protrusion and pressing up into it; quicker this time, and with more intent. 

This time Sherlock doesn’t make a sound, but grips onto John’s upper arm, hard. He’s there. Seconds away. John keeps a hard pressure on Sherlock’s stomach for a few seconds longer- he’s so immersed in Sherlock’s own desperation he’s almost forgotten how achingly aroused he is.

“Ok Sherlock,” John let’s off his hand a little, “You’ve done so well, you can go ahead now.” He says gently, but he gets silence, and Sherlock is still as stone. He doesn’t feel wetness or warmth either. “Sherlock?”

“I’m…” Sherlock struggles, “Just having some trouble releasing… I don’t know, I…” His tone is strained for release, but unsure. His breathing is heavy; he needs this badly. 

“Ok, that’s alright. Whenever you get the feeling, go with it,” Even with John’s limited experience with Sherlock in this particular act, he’s already learned what his partner sometimes needs to hear. There have been times where Sherlock has felt so vulnerable in a moment that he needs encouragement to let go. John returned to pushing onto Sherlock’s stomach- this time moving his hand around, massaging the area. Sherlock pushes into it and immediately moans. John presses harder, “I’ve got you, you’re ok. Let it go, Sherlock.” He coos. “You’ve done so well tonight. Let it all flow out now. That’s right love.”

Sherlock lets out a choked noise, and then long, deep whine at the same time John feels heat seep into the front of his pants. Sticking the fabric to his skin, excess running down the sides of him. His brain is buzzing, he’s just barely holding onto his own sexual release. He didn’t realize he was so impossibly close. Sherlock is letting out a deep, rumbling sound of utter relief, and ecstasy, and pure sex. It’s loud in John’s ear and he feels it in every joint in his body. 

John can feel Sherlock stopping, and he swiftly slides his hand into the front of Sherlock’s pants and grabs his wet, throbbing cock. Sherlock gasps and groans deeply- thrusting into John’s hand. It only takes four tugs for Sherlock to come with a call of John’s name on his lips. John is basking in the feeling of overwhelming secondhand release and before he even realizes, Sherlock is down by his suddenly unclothed erection, taking it in hand, lapping at the head before taking it whole in his mouth.

“Shit,” John jolted and groaned, grabbing Sherlock’s hair, “That’s… all wet. That’s your- oh shhhh-” His sentence was quickly aborted, taking maybe only 15 more seconds of that absolutely sinful tongue and lips before finding his own needed release. Sherlock took it all into his mouth and swallowed without a blink. He kissed one of John’s hipbones and slid back up next to him on the bed to join in basking. Staring at the dark ceiling.

“That… was…” John couldn’t even think of something to say. He could feel the wetness cooling on him. He was lying there, soaking in Sherlock’s warm piss, and the only thing he could think was that if he hadn’t already come so recently, he would be getting hard again. Damn, how deeply he’s fallen already.

“Yes…” Sherlock responds. He’s worn out, still catching his breath. He shouldn’t even try to recover, he wont be able to get over this for a week. 

Such a long silence stretches between them that John questions if Sherlock is still awake, but just then he see’s the mans form roll off the bed and disappear into the bathroom, returning with a wet flannel. John grunts as he hitches up his hips to chuck his pants off and over the side of the bed, allowing Sherlock to give him a right wipe down. He hears Sherlock plop back onto the mattress, equally bottomless, and go back to staring back up at the darkened room.

“Thank you for...” Sherlock makes a waving motion with his hand, trying to seem collected “that.”

An amused huff comes from John’s nose, “Well, you’re welcome.” His tone playing with the odd cordial one of Sherlock’s, “Thank you for the clean up.”

Sherlock hums in response, “You have to get up in less than an hour. I assume this level of cleanliness can suffice for that long. I myself am not quite prepared to face the morning yet… feeling a bit…”

“Drained?”

John quietly chuckles at the exasperated sigh he received in response to his joke.

Neither of them returns to sleep in that next hour. Quite content with the sound of an occasional car passing by on the street and the rhythmic breathing of one another, they remain silent. 

It was John’s alarm that pierced the silence all too soon. He shut it off and rolled over onto one of his elbows to hover over Sherlock. The muted blue light beginning to seep around the curtain edges was enough to see Sherlock’s intelligent eyes staring back at him as he remained still for a moment, simply taking in the sight of the other man. 

Warm cheeks. Full lips. Black curls every which way. Eyes dark like an oceans storm.

Gorgeous. 

He leaned down and pressed an open, soft, so soft kiss to those lips, feeling the way they fit around his own and letting them breathe life into his budding day. Sherlock answered in the same gentle, pulling motions with no urgency or lust behind them. It was just them in this moment, welcoming each other into the waking world. Beautiful and simple.

“Come wash up with me?” John says quietly, lips still brushing Sherlock’s.

“Hmm.” The affirmative hum vibrated John’s own mouth and he smiled.

Both encouraging one another from the comfort of their bed, they pad over to the bathroom.

“You’re still washing the sheets, by the way.”

Sherlock waves him off and runs the shower.


End file.
